Part of being an ally is giving up space. Just like I expect allies to respect my queer-only spaces. Butch queer women often feel marginalized in male-centric gay spaces, so it’s necessary for them to have a space to call their own. There are spaces that aren’t for me, too - I know not to attend a space that’s exclusively for butch queer woman. You also need to recognize that there are some spaces that aren’t for you, like a leather bar, a bear party, or Dyke March after party.
A large part of being an ally is taking it upon yourself to educate you and the others around you about the plight of the marginalized community. Instead, take the time to learn what being transgender is about. Similarly, if you think gay people deserve equal rights, but “don’t really get what transgender is all about” then don’t attend. If you are there to gawk at or judge the men wearing rainbow jockstraps littering the streets with glitter for their their overtly sexual “lifestyle,” then you should stay home and twiddle your thumbs for the entirety of June. Really, it’s simple: be respectful and accepting - exactly what the queer community is fighting for during Pride. The issue becomes “What’s the best way to show support while simultaneously realizing that as a straight and cisgender person, Pride isn’t for you?” It would also prohibit a cisgender straight man from celebrating Pride with his transgender wife, or a mother from taking her recently out, 13-year-old gay son to the parade.
If allies weren’t allowed to partake in Pride, then straight women who date bisexual men wouldn’t be able to attend. The issue isn’t then, “Is it appropriate for allies to attend Pride?” because the answer is unequivocally yes. Her support, unlike those of many companies, simply needs to be genuine. Nevertheless, even though Pride isn’t “for” my mother or any other straight person, that doesn’t mean she can’t show her support. On the surface level, pride is being overrun by straight people and large companies who attempt to capitalize on gay culture with limited-edition pride products – remember when Burger King unveiled the “ Proud Whopper” in 2014? A combination of the influx of straightness at Pride, along with the major setbacks the LGBTQ community has experienced in the past two years, has encouraged LGBTQ people and activism groups, like the Reclaim Pride Coalition, to once again make Pride a form of protest, not simply a celebration. Still, it makes sense why my mother and those like her would feel apprehensive about attending a Pride festival. We want straight people to not only believe that LGBTQ people deserve the same treatment as cisgender, straight people, but to also fight for our rights as queer individuals.
In fact, what we are fighting for could actually be boiled down to one thing: we want everyone who’s not a member of the LGBTQ community to become an ally. We also march for the lives of transgender women of color, who are being murdered at an alarming rate. We march to end workplace discrimination, to receive equal access to healthcare, and to serve openly in the military. It’s also a time, like it was nearly five decades ago, when we march not just for tolerance but for acceptance. Seeing a bunch of fellow queers swarm the streets - kissing loved ones in public, proudly wearing fabulously flamboyant outfits - is not only empowering, but also a reminder that while we often feel alone, the LGBTQ community exists in great numbers. It’s a time where we congregate to experience what it’s like to be the majority in a large, public space. It’s a celebration of its diverse members. Pride’s now evolved to mean a number of things to the LGBTQ community.